If you're pressed for time and low on knowledge, yet you still find yourself needing to impress your friends with your knowledge of the baseball postseason, here's the one word you need to know: Filthy.

	Hmmm. Anyone have any ideas how to describe his stuff?

Filthy is the new black.

Use it whenever Angels reliever Francisco Rodriguez releases the ball, and use it reflexively. Rodriguez winds, Rodriguez throws, you curl your lips, harden your stare and bite that lower lip to accentuate the F. Ffff-illl-thee.

Use it now, though, because it's about to reach critical mass. Jump the shark, even, to use another phrase that has jumped the shark. Filthy was kind of new and hip a year ago, but now it's sitting there on the edge, about to fall into the abyss occupied by "West Coast Offense" and "mid-range jumper" and "the new black."

This is just one invaluable viewer's tip for the remainder of the postseason. Since this all-Western final four is probably testing your knowledge (which Molina is that again?), and since the network executives would rather eat at Arby's than try to sell a St. Louis-Minnesota World Series … hey, like the guy with the sign sitting outside the supermarket says, "We all need a little help now and then."

(Of course, we all know the networks have long since missed out on the basic truth of sports: If it's the World Series or the Super Bowl, people will watch. Doesn't matter who's playing, give or take a rating point or two.)

Other tips: When watching the Giants and Cardinals, understand that Tony La Russa and Dusty Baker are a combustible mix. Publicly, they profess much admiration and respect for each other, but that doesn't translate onto the field. This is one of the best sideshows going, because La Russa is baseball's self-appointed on-field police chief. You play the game his way or you hear about it. Baker exudes a blue-collar persona in a white-collar world, and he doesn't like to be told how he or his players should act.

Information you need to know: A.J. Pierzynski's mom gives him $5 for every walk he gets. She was out only $65 this year. (To stay on the catcher theme, Ramon Hernandez's mom could offer her son $1 million every time he successfully blocks the plate and never have to worry about it.)

Tough call: Angels or Twins? It's easy to root for both, mainly because the guys running the teams (on the field, of course) seem as close to being real guys as possible. Ron Gardenhire and Mike Scioscia can laugh at themselves, which is a rare trait in a manager. In fact, Gardenhire laughs at himself and with his players and most of the time seems to be having the time of his life.

There's nothing filthy about that.

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Reached for comment, Melissa Stark said she doesn't have any time for old jowly guys who haven't mattered since Angel Flight pants were in fashion: Andy Rooney, for his part, says he has no time for female sideline reporters.

Here's another way to look at it: In Rooney, we've finally found the one disgruntled Eric Dickerson fan.

It might have been one man's interpretation, but it looked pretty obvious: Kenny Lofton got exactly zero calls in Game 2 after his Game 1 overreaction.

Run that camera up inside everybody's nostrils, and sometimes you pay the price: Jeff Kent's eighth-inning strikeout Thursday night gave America an uncensored -- and loud -- look into the dark heart of the K.

Just for the heck of it: Andy McGaffigan.

There are leaders, there are trailblazers, and then there are pioneers: Still waiting for the first kicker to wear a shield on his facemask.

For a guy who obviously picked his spot to come out of seclusion: Mark McGwire chose the perfect spot with that "best friend" commercial.

By the way: That "Baseball Championship" you get to attend with McGwire … is that the same thing that most of us call the "World Series"?

Target demographic in mind, the edgy announcer sets out to show his network's vaunted attitude: Tim McCarver, relating the Giants' six straight hits in Game 1 to the movie Carousel.

Ain't nothing free in this world, baby: We hereby rescind all the respect we accorded the New England Patriots back when they kept telling us they weren't getting enough.

If you're serious about making money and you think the idea of a 40-year-old man eating his mother's rum bundt cake in the back seat of a longshoreman's carpool van at 5:30 a.m., for instance, is funny stuff, there's something you ought to read: Jeff Johnson's weekly NFL picks on McSweeneys.net.

Livan Hernandez's continuing postseason success is making the Giants wonder: Where was he all season?

Come on, Minnesotans, can't you see this was his plan all along?: Bud Selig, master motivator, closet Twins fan.

And, finally, in the lifelong quest to find The Next Kurt Warner: It seems safe to eliminate Jamie Martin.

Tim Keown is a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at tim.keown@espnmag.com.